


Home is Wherever I'm with You

by msgenevieve



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, head canon, spoilers for 322
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/pseuds/msgenevieve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do me a favor, she asks, then runs off into the night without waiting for an answer.  One of these days, he thinks, he’s going to stop doing this woman’s bidding.  Today, however, is obviously not that day. Killian Jones, aka Prince Charles, and Maid Marian have an awkward conversation.  (Prequel to “Every Day I Write the Book”.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is Wherever I'm with You

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for 322 and dialogue from that episode not written by me. Title shamelessly stolen from Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.

~*~

 

 

There’s dirt in his mouth.

It’s a minor annoyance, given what he’s just undergone, but an annoyance nevertheless.  He coughs, vaguely aware of the cold earth beneath him and the rushing sound of the open portal behind him.  To his left, Regina’s erstwhile prisoner is lying very still.

There is no sign of Emma.

Panic begins to claw at his chest, then the portal gapes and shimmers, the crackling roar of it intensifying, and a windswept, breathless Emma Swan thumps onto the ground beside him, missing him by half an inch. 

The portal snaps shut behind her, leaving behind a deafening but welcome silence.

They lay dazed for a few seconds.  If the ground weren’t so hard, he’d be happy to recline here with her for a good while.  If they didn’t have an audience (even a groggy one), well, there’s no telling what he might fancy in the way of celebrating their successful return.

Alas, there is a time and a place for such things, however, and now is neither the time nor the place.  

Picking himself up off the ground, he winces at his aching bones.  He offers his hand to Emma and she accepts without hesitation, her grip warm and firm as he helps her to her feet.   Her bright eyes meet his, and he sees his own incredulous urge to laugh glittering in her gaze. 

She shifts closer, still clutching his hand, and he cannot help the sliver of hope that pushes to the forefront of his mind.  “Hey, do me a favour?” 

 _Anything,_ he thinks, but holds his tongue as she nods towards the supine female form on the ground.  “Fill her in?”  She squeezes his hand gently, then releases it.  “Make sure she doesn’t freak out.”

Again, he has to bite his tongue – _what the devil does_ _freak out mean? –_ in favour of a more pressing question.  “Where are you going?"

She smiles, her eyes shining with unshed tears.  “I have some people I need to see.”

With that, she’s gone, so confident of his acquiescence that she doesn’t bother waiting for his answer.  _Bloody woman_ , he thinks with a rush of tenderness.  He watches as she leaves the barn, running not as though the devil is nipping at her heels but as a child might run to tell her parents of the adventures she’s had that day.  He smiles at the thought.  It’s true, after all.

“What is this place?”

Sighing, he turns to meet his fate.  Their mystery woman is now on her feet, her body language stiff with the age-old flight or fight response, her dark eyes flashing fire at him.  “Who are _you_?”

“I know my appearance is unfamiliar to you now, but we actually met in the Enchanted Forest when I was known as Prince Charles.”  He gestures to his face, offering her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I wasn’t quite as devilishly handsome in that incarnation, of course, but you get the general idea.”  She glares pointedly at his hook, and he sighs. “Or perhaps you know me by another name.”  He recognises the echo of another conversation. “Captain Hook.”

“You’re not Charles.” She takes a step backwards, her gaze frantically searching the darkened barn.  “Where’s Leia?”  Seeing the panic in her eyes, he makes a mental note to tell the Saviour that she will definitely owe _him_ a favour in return after this. “What have you done with her?”  

“Leia is fine and well.”  He tries for his most soothing tone, but he suspects the dust still caught in the back of his throat is hampering his efforts.  “As for the rest, well, it’s quite the tale.”  The woman still staring at him as though she’s pondering how best to knock him out cold, but she’s made no move to actually do so, which counts as a positive in his book.

The woman’s gaze narrows.  “ _Where is Leia_?”

“Joyously reunited with her family by now, with any luck,” he tells her, then immediately regrets his choice of words, because her stricken expression has reminded him exactly _why_ she couldn’t be allowed to stay behind in the past.  “Look, I know this is all very confusing for you,” he begins gently, “but if you’ll accompany me to the town meeting place, your mind will be put at ease.”

She starts to shake her head before he’s even finished speaking.  “I’m not going _anywhere_ with you.”

Swallowing a sigh, he takes a step towards her.  “I’m afraid you’ve got no choice, love.”  Her mouth tightens, but she says nothing. “You’re not in the Enchanted Forest anymore.”

Her dark eyes widen.  “That’s not possible.”

“I’m afraid it is.” His head is pounding dully, like a well-used drum, but he does his best to smile.  “But you won’t be alone in this realm, milady.”  Moving slowly – carefully, so as not to startle her – he lifts his hand and gestures towards the open barn doors, where the dark night sky is glittering with stars.  “I know this will come as a shock, but after your execution in the past, the Evil Queen cast a curse which sent the inhabitants of our realm to _this_ land.”  At her shocked look, he feels as though he might have finally broken through her mulish defence.  “I’ll wager there’ll be more than one townsfolk that you’ll recognise as a friendly face.”

The woman crosses her arms around her chest, and he can see that she’s begun to shake.  _Delayed shock,_ he thinks, and shrugs out of his heavy leather coat.  Approaching her cautiously as he might a frightened animal, he holds out his coat, willing her to see it as some kind of peace offering.  “You’re cold, lass.”  She doesn’t speak, nor move, and it’s an easy task to drape the coat around her shoulders. 

“Now, if you would be so kind as to let me take you to the town meeting place, you can see for yourself that Leia is alive and well.”  He gestures towards the barn door.  “After you, love.”

The woman seems to come back to life at that, her tone bristling with irritation.  “You are overly familiar, sir.”

“Well, that problem could be solved if you’d care to tell me your name.”  He looks at her expectantly but, as he feared, he sees nothing but stubbornness in her eyes.  _No wonder she and Swan were drawn to each other_ , he muses. 

“If there is dark magic here,” she says in a quiet, flat tone, “then you know as well as I do that the giving freely of one’s name can be dangerous.”

“And yet I have told you mine.”

She gives him a pointed look.  “You have told me _many_ names, so forgive me if I continue to harbour doubts as to your trustworthiness.”  Pulling off his coat, she tosses it back at him, hitting him squarely in the chest.  “Take me to see Leia, _now.”_

 _Finally._ He shrugs into his coat, and gestures towards the open barn door a second time.  “It would be my pleasure.”

It’s not the most awkward walk in the countryside he’s ever taken, but it’s a close thing.  She insists on walking behind him, keeping her distance, but he has no complaints. Traveling in silence, he can allow himself to remember the way Emma had squeezed his hand.  How she’d looked in that glorious red ball gown.  How she’d let him dry her tears.  How she’d let him simply _be_ with her. 

He thinks of how eager she’d been to reunite with her parents and her son, and his heart twists.  Perhaps he’s guilty of the worst folly, that of wishful thinking, but he cannot help but hope that their new closeness might have survived their return to this realm.

“What is this place?”

It’s the second time the woman has asked that question of him, but this time the words are infused with an odd sense of wonder, and he turns to see her staring at the glowing lights illuminating the town’s modern buildings.  He feels a pang of pity, and trudging back to her side, he offers her his arm. “Storybrooke, milady.”

She stares at the outline of the buildings for a moment longer, then nods, as if coming to some decision.  “It seems a curious place.”

Killian grins. “You have no idea, love.”

 

~*~

 

He sees Emma as soon as they enter the diner.  She is holed up in a booth with her parents and her son, and if the radiant smile on her mother’s face is any indication, it is a very happy reunion indeed.  As the door shuts behind him (with a jangle of that infernal bell) Emma turns in her seat, her gaze immediately finding him amidst the press of townsfolk.  He tilts his head towards the dark-haired woman at his side, and Emma smiles, her eyes bright with relief.  _Thank you_ , she mouths, and he’d be lying if he said his chest didn’t swell with pride.

Lightly touching his nameless guest on the arm, he gestures towards where Emma is sitting with her parents and her boy.  She won’t see the woman she knew as Leia, but he has no doubt she’ll recognise the table’s other female occupant.  She draws in a sharp breath.  “Snow White!”

“Aye.”  He gives her a few seconds to absorb this new development.  “The woman you knew as Princess Leia is the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, lost to each other through Regina’s curse but reunited in this realm.”

The dark-haired woman looks at him in disbelief.  “How is that possible?”

“Well, love, the short answer is magic.”  He gives her a wry smile.  “The full tale is rather more complicated.”

“And who do we have here?”

He’s never been so glad to hear the strident voice of the Widow Lucas. 

He gently steers their mystery guest towards her, and her pale blue gaze sweeps over them both with disconcerting perceptiveness, taking in the other woman’s cloak and traditional dress. 

“Your guess is as good as mine, dear lady.”  He offers Granny his most obsequious smile.  “But this morning she was in the Evil Queen’s dungeon in the Enchanted Forest, awaiting execution.”  He nods towards the nearest diners, who are presently gorging themselves on what looks like a celebratory feast.  “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to procure some food and drink for her?”

Granny’s eyes suddenly widen in what Killian knows bloody well is recognition (it had been through her village that the Evil Queen had paraded her captive that day, after all) but she says nothing. Instead, she merely pats the other woman on the shoulder, then draws her towards a small table in the corner of the diner.  “Come and sit down, dear, and we’ll get some hot food into you.” 

Whether she’s relieved to be out of his exclusive company or she recognises a kindred spirit in the Widow Lucas, he’ll never know, but Regina’s former prisoner actually smiles, and it changes her whole face. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“It’s the least I can do for someone from back home.”  She glances at Killian, one grey eyebrow quirked.  “What about you, Captain?”

Killian hesitates, his gaze drawn to where Emma is deep in conversation with her family, like a magnet towards true north.  He has no stomach for food at the moment, but a drink, now that’s a different matter.  His flask, unfortunately, is empty, and it’s without much hope that he draws it from his coat pocket and holds it aloft.  “A refill might go some way towards soothing my frayed nerves.”

To his surprise, Granny doesn’t toss him out on his ear but snatches the flask from his fingertips before she goes to settle the nameless woman at the corner table.  “Seeing as it’s a special occasion,” she mutters, her tone making it plain that this will be a one-time thing.  “Wait here.”

A moment later, his flask refilled and heavy in his hand, their guest from the Enchanted Forest talking (hesitantly, but talking nevertheless) with Doctor Hopper and Marco, he turns to survey the lay of the land.  Once again, he feels Emma’s absence like a hollow ache, pressing on his chest.  He glances back to where the dark-haired woman is sitting, and is relieved to see her smiling at something Marco is saying. 

Unbidden, the thought comes that their new arrival already seems more at home in this town than he himself has ever felt, and his spirits sink.

Deciding the woman is in good hands, he allows himself the tortuous pleasure of watching Emma with her family.  Despite the babble of the crowd between them, he can easily pick out the melodic lilt of her laughter.  As he watches her smiling at her family, as though she finally has everything of which she has always dreamed, he is torn between joy and sorrow.  It’s everything he’s wanted for her, but if she’d wanted him by her side this evening, she would have made that wish perfectly clear.  It seems there is no place for him at that table, not tonight.

Perhaps not ever.

Quickly, before he can change his mind and do something foolish like intrude on what is obviously a family affair, he slips through the crowd, his fingers curled tightly around his flask, and steps out into the cool night.   He could make his way upstairs to his lodgings, but in this instant he feels too crowded, too much in need of fresh air. He makes for the front gate, his heart heavy, then remembers with a start that he has nowhere else to go, because the Jolly is gone.

He stops in his tracks, a sudden tightness in his throat he’s not sure even Granny’s prized liquor will wash away.  Yes, the Jolly is gone, but Emma is safe and smiling, basking in the love of her family, and he would make the same choice again and again. It had been the honourable thing to do.

He doesn’t leave.  Instead he finds himself sitting at one of the small tables, legs stretched out, idly spinning his flask on the table top with one finger.  His craving for a drink has faded, oddly enough.  He can still hear the muted music and laughter coming from inside the diner, and the sound makes him feel inexplicably alone. Perhaps he should have walked to the docks, his lack of a ship notwithstanding, but while he’d wished to put some distance between himself and the revelry, it seems he is not strong enough to leave the orbit of Emma’s presence. 

Perhaps he never will be.

He’s finally giving into the temptation of uncapping his flask when the door of the diner opens and closes, the flash of golden hair stilling his hands and quickening his pulse.  He pushes the flask aside as Emma makes her way to his table and drops into the seat beside him without ceremony, her smile warming his blood.  She is pleased to have found him, he realises, and his pulse begins to race anew. 

“So, do you think Rumplestiltskin is right?”  Her voice is soft and light, seeming to brush against his skin like velvet.  “I'm in the book now.”  She makes a face, as though she can’t quite believe her own words.  “He said everything, besides our little adventure, would go back to normal.”  She leans forward, her gaze locking with his. “Do you think that it is?”

He’s not of a mind to tell her that he’s been obsessively pillaging his memory ever since he was forced to witness her kissing the bearings right out of his past self, but he’s not going to lie to her, either. “He's right.”  _How he dislikes admitting such a thing when it comes to the Crocodile_ , he thinks.  “Otherwise I'd remember that damn bar wench I kissed.”

She gives him a look of mild exasperation, but she’s still smiling. “How would _that_ prove anything?

There is no sense in holding back the truth of his heart, not now. “I know how you kiss.”  He sees the impact of his teasing words in her eyes, and his gut tightens.  “I'd have gone after her.”  He would have turned the realm upside down to find her, to be more precise, but he doesn’t share the thought. She has left the company of her family to seek him out, and that is enough. “But I didn't. My life went on exactly the same as before.”  He hears the regret in his voice, and from the softening of Emma’s expression, he knows she hears it as well. 

“Yeah, must've been the rum,” she agrees gently, her eyes swimming with tender amusement, and he finds himself curling his hand into a ball to stop himself from reaching out to touch her. 

“Everything's back to normal.”  Except for his heart, he thinks, because he will never be able to return to the man he was before they’d journeyed into the past together.  Or, indeed, since he met her. “You're a bloody hero, Swan.”

He sees the faintest of blushes colour her cheeks, and her next words have a matching heat warming his own face. “So are you.”  She doesn’t give him the chance to speak before she edges closer still, her hand almost but not quite touching his left sleeve.  “I wanted to thank you, Killian.”

Startled, he looks at her, the sound of his true name on her lips - for no one’s benefit but his own – making his heart beat faster. “For coming back for me in the first place in New York. If you hadn't-”  She breaks off, but there’s no need for her to finish the thought.  They both know what would have happened if he hadn’t found her. Her parents forgotten, her boy’s head filled with memories of a pretend life, perhaps even a marriage to a winged minion of the Wicked Witch.

There are so many – too many – things he wants to say to her but, in the end, he retreats behind simplicity. “It was the right thing to do.”

If he thought that answer might be the end of it, he’s very much mistaken.  “How did you do it?”  A frown plucks at her eyebrows. “How did you _get_ to me?

Again, his pulse quickens, and he suddenly feels as though he is treading on thin ice but somehow compelled to press ahead regardless.  Apparently, surviving several life and death situations whilst in the Enchanted Forest was merely an aperitif to the adrenaline that has begun to hum in his veins. “Well, the curse was coming.”  To his surprise, the words sound so very ordinary, as though he’s telling the tale of a different man. “I ditched my crew and took the Jolly Roger as fast and as far as I possibly could to outrun it.”

Her clear green eyes widen.  “You outran a curse?”

Only a few weeks ago, such a question would have been laced with mockery, but not now.  Now, she’s gazing at him as though she’s only just realised who he might truly be, and it makes him bold. “I'm a hell of a captain,” he tells her playfully, and is rewarding with a delightful roll of those lovely eyes. “And once I was outside of the curse's purview, I knew that the walls were down.”  Again, his voice is steady, and he’s glad. “Transport between the worlds was possible again.” He pauses, once again feeling as though he’s about to step across a line that has yet to be drawn. “All I needed was a magic bean.”

She tilts her head to study him, her eyes searching his. “Those are not easy to come by.”

“They are if you've got something of value to trade.”

“And what was that?”

She asks the question so casually, her smile making her eyes dance with the simple pleasure of their banter, and he knows the time has finally come. “Why, the Jolly Roger, of course,” he tells her and, to his surprise, the words don’t tear at his heart as he feared they would.  How could they, when Emma Swan is looking at him as though he’s just gifted her his heart on a golden platter?

He had taken care to match her light-hearted tone to hers, but her face immediately changes, her eyes shimmering with realisation, her voice little more than a stunned whisper. “You traded your ship for me?”

His ship. His home. His life.  He has given it all up for her, and he would do it again in a heartbeat.

The burning emerald of her gaze leaves him no place to hide, and he feels as stripped bare before her as if his clothing were in tatters.  He would look away, but her face is like a siren’s song, drawing him in, and he gladly yields. “Aye.”

The word hangs between them like a living thing, and his breath catches in his chest as her mouth trembles, her eyes shining with a light he has never let himself hope would ever be for him.  Her gaze is soft and warm, a perfect match for the hand she presses against his cheek and the alluring press of her thigh against his. He holds her gaze until the very last instant, then her mouth claims his in a kiss that reaches right into the darkest corners of him, and he is home.

 

 

~*~


End file.
